


A Fox Among the Freaks

by Ravenhoot



Series: This Isn't How Their Story Goes [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate plot, Arguing, Caligari Carnival, Canonical Character Death, Carnivorous Carnival, Could Be Canon, Disguise, Eslaf, F/M, Fire, Fluff and Angst, Fortune Telling, Hinterlands, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, Kitlaf, Not Canon Compliant, Olé - Freeform, Swearing, V.F.D., What Could Have Been, What-If, department, vfd, volunteer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 21:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenhoot/pseuds/Ravenhoot
Summary: What would have happened if Kit had been Madame Lulu when Olaf and his troupe arrived at Caligari Carnival.Rating for use of language and implied sensuality.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **_!! IMPORTANT - READ ME!!_**  
>  This fic is _not_ part of my ongoing Kitlaf series! This is a departure from my series that I was inspired to write after a brief conversation with a few of my friends. The only detail that carries over from my series into this is Olaf's use of the nickname "Little fox" for Kit. 
> 
> But this fic will not fit into the timeline I've established in [Ill-Fitting Pants (And Other Dire Hideous Clothes)](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1027170/)
> 
> Also, I used a lot of lines directly from Carnivorous Carnival (show). I wanted to see just how close I could keep it while still manipulating the story to have Kit there instead of Olivia. Hope you like it!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~ denotes a flashback

“…Don’t see why we have to go to some run-down carnival. I am never going to find the sugar bowl all the way out here in the Hinterlands!”

Olaf kept both hands on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead at the unchanging landscape – not because he cared about safe driving, but because he knew if he looked over at Esmé, he’d end up saying something rash that she would probably make him regret. He could just start to see the faint outline of a roller coaster and what looked like circus tents. At least they were on the right track. In truth, Olaf had no idea what to expect. He didn’t really buy into fortune-telling, but nothing else had worked so far and places to lay low were severely limited in the Hinterlands.

They drove for what felt like hours until Olaf was finally pulling the car into the carnival’s entrance. He instinctively ducked as he drove under a wide-mouthed grotesque clown, even though the car had plenty of clearance. This place already gave him the creeps. He remembered that back in its glory days, the carnival had been a key location for VFD, but surely they'd abandoned it by now. It certainly looked abandoned. 

Olaf extricated himself from the car and stretched. The sun had almost finished setting beyond the horizon – the sky was still illuminated with reds and oranges from the “famous” Hinterland sunset. Olaf brought a hand to his brow to shield his eyes. He didn’t particularly see what was so special about it. It was just a sunset.

“This carnival doesn’t look very _in_. A rusty roller coaster and a bunch of tents?” Esmé sounded dubious.

“We just need to stay long enough for…” Olaf peered at the carnival flyer in his hand. “For ‘Madam Lulu’ to answer our questions.”

“Why would we trust some woman who lives in a tent?” Esmé demanded.

Olaf glanced at the faded red and yellow striped fabric and suddenly grinned. “Not just any tent. Look,” he said, pointing to an insignia on the tent canvas. An insignia of three letters designed to look like an eye. Perhaps this carnival wasn't as abandoned as he'd first thought.

“Let’s go,” he commanded.

“Could be a sign that we’re on the wrong—” The hook-handed man began, but one glance from Olaf quickly silenced him. “Uh, bad time, moving on.”

Olaf and Esmé entered the tent followed by the rest of the troupe. A woman shrouded in dark gypsy clothing and a dark veil emerged from the back of the tent, sweeping a beaded curtain aside as she passed through it. She’d heard the car approach and had assumed it was just another wayward traveler who stopped to have their fortune told. _Ridiculous nonsense,_ she thought.

When she got her first look at her guests, Kit Snicket stopped short and drew in a sharp breath. She was suddenly _very_ glad she’d opted for the veil. _You knew he would probably end up here sooner or later,_  Kit reminded herself. She tried to shake any thoughts of familiarity from her mind. He wasn’t the same man anymore. At least their arrival confirmed that she’d been getting accurate information from her sources - Esmé Squalor standing next to him validated the rumors that she'd abandoned her husband and career in the city. Kit recovered quickly and snapped seamlessly back into her character. 

“Welcome to Caligari Carnival,” Kit said in her disguised voice. “Madam Lulu has been expecting you.” _Technically, it’s not a lie. Expecting but not knowing when you would show up is more like it._

“You were expecting us?” Olaf questioned doubtfully.

“I have vision I receive visit from _handsome_ stranger,” Madam Lulu trilled.

“And his girlfriend?” Esmé questioned sharply.

“No, she not in vision,” Madam Lulu retorted dryly.

Esmé crossed her arms and harrumphed loudly.

“Now, who wants fortune from fortune teller, please?” Madame Lulu asked.

The troupe argued among themselves as to who would get their fortune read.

“No need to fight,” Madame Lulu assured them. “I read fortune for all at one reasonable group rate, yes?”

The troupe responded enthusiastically. Kit smirked beneath her veil. This would be easy. She would read a few fortunes and they'd be on their way. Even as she thought it, she doubted it truly would be that easy. It never was with him.

She addressed the bald man first. “You have experienced great loss.”

“That’s true! I’ve lost my hair!”

To the two white-faced women, she said, “Your sister. She depend on you.”

The two women gasped and in unison said, “How did she know!”

Madame Lulu glanced up at the henchperson of indeterminate gender and was once again glad for her veil. Her eyes widened, and she drew a blank. “You… I don’t know there’s just a lot going on here.”

“That’s fair,” the henchperson replied in a monotone voice.

She addressed the hook-handed man. This one, she knew. Not personally, but she at least knew who he was. The years had been hard on it, it would appear. _“Your_ sister. She depend on you.”

The man with hooks for hands appeared genuinely surprised. “M-my sister?”

Kit grinned beneath her veil as she turned to address Esmé, who Kit was amused to see was standing possessively close to Olaf. “You – you’re not real blonde.”

Esmé scoffed and retorted, “You can’t prove that.”

Before she could come up with a generic fortune for Olaf, he cut her off.

“An amusing party trick, Lulu. But any two-bit grifter could guess those things. Tell me something only a _real_ fortune teller would know.”

Kit steeled herself once more and studied him for a moment. How was it possible for him to have changed so much in such a short amount of time? It had been less than a year since she'd seen him last and yet it might as well be a hundred years. He was so hardened and closed-off, leery and distrusting of everyone, even his own lackeys it seemed. She noticed that when he was nervous or irritated, like now, he still crossed his right arm protectively over his chest, clutching his left bicep.

 _He asked for it,_  she told herself. “I know that you were brought here by a series of unfortunate events.”

Olaf raised half of his eyebrow with intrigue. “Go on.”

She took a deep breath. “You adopted three orphans, one of whom you tried to marry, til she literally and figuratively escaped your grasp,” Lulu began. That was something she hadn’t believed when she first learned of it. The Olaf she had known would have never...

“You followed them to the home of a herpetologist who you mostly fooled then eventually killed.” _Monty didn’t deserve his fate._

“How could you—” Olaf started to say with eyes wide in genuine disbelief.

“You visited a large lake in the off-season,” Lulu interrupted him, “where you had an ill-fated romance that ended in betrayal... and leeches.” _He really must have been desperate, trying to woo Josephine. Honestly..._

“You burned an old flame at an old mill,” Lulu continued   _(O_ _h Georgina. Another wayward associate)_ , then returned to school as teacher, where you were underpaid and working nights.”

Ola had dropped his hand down to his side as his shock intensified.

“You meet a partner in a penthouse and you murder an old enemy in a murder of crows,” Lulu said, vitriol spilling from every word. “A good man...  _a noble man._ ” _My dear brother,_  Kit thought bitterly. That had been the worst news of all. She had refused to believe it, but Larry and Jacqueline confirmed it. She trusted their word as well as she’d trusted her brother’s. She only hoped that the fatal blow hadn't come from his hand.  _Plausible... since he's gotten into the habit of making his minions do his dirty work._

“His words, they haunt you from beyond the grave, and even hospital visit doesn’t make you feel better. You have set fire after fire, but it’s never enough, for time flies like a poison dart and the force of _destiny_ cages us all!” Kit took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. Keeping the accent consistent had been difficult with every syllable after she had mentioned her brother. She had underestimated how hard this would be. She halfway regretted her choice of words regarding the poison dart, but he had to be stopped before anyone else got hurt.

Olaf stood unmoving in pure shock. He let out a tiny exhale as he tried to process everything the fortune teller should _not_ have known. _Okay, some of that was probably in newspapers but there was too much in there that she should not know. Couldn’t know... Who_ is _this woman? Obviously VFD, but who?_ Mild guilt crept over him as his intrigue about this mysterious fortune teller grew while Esmé still lurked behind him. _She’ll get over it. She’s too obsessed with the sugar bowl to care about anything else anymore._

“WOW!” The hook-handed man exclaimed, causing both Olaf and Lulu to jump and breaking everyone out of their reverie.

Olaf let out a shaky breath and stammered, “I... can see you live up to your reputation, Lulu. We should have come sooner.”

 _You most certainly should have,_ Kit thought. _Who knows, maybe I could have prevented some of this if you had come sooner..._

Lulu cleared her throat and shrugged. “Just a small taste of Madame Lulu’s power.”

Olaf still looked visibly shaken. Esmé, Kit couldn’t help but notice, had remained uncharacteristically quiet. Kit made an instant decision. She was going to have to play this role well enough to keep herself disguised... she had so few joys in her life now; so many noble associates lost. She knew it was absolutely not the noble thing to do, but her combination of grief and resentment controlled her decision. She decided that making Esmé miserable while that plucky Olivia Caliban was off retrieving the sugar bowl would just have to do for now. Kit wasn’t typically a vindictive person, but people weren’t entirely wicked or noble, she reminded herself.

She grinned again beneath her veil. “I can see that you are a man with big... questions,” Lulu trawled seductively.

Esmé’s lip turned up in disgust as Olaf chuckled nervously and averted his eyes from the fortune teller’s veiled countenance.

“And for big questions,” Lulu continued, reverting back to a chipper, business-like tone, “you need to be asking of the crystal ball.” She swept the interior beaded curtain aside to reveal a small, round table with two chairs sitting across from each other. On the table was a glass orb that seemed to glow with an aura of mystery.

“I always thought crystal balls were as fake as those eyelashes,” Esmé jabbed.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Lulu nearly sang. “They are as _real_ as the jewels in your teeny-tiny engagement ring.”

Esmé’s right hand swiped over her left. _Fucking Jerome,_  Esmé thought viciously. 

Olaf let out a tense breath as he glanced between the two women. “Uh, how does it work, Lulu?”

“Oh... is very complicated to explain, please,” Lulu said dismissively.

“Try me,” Olaf insisted.

“Fine,” Lulu reluctantly agreed. “Once a day, when spirits call, you may ask one question of the ball and then spirits come in smoke and fire to answer you your heart’s desire.”

Olaf looked satisfied enough that Kit thought it safe to continue her charade. She decided to be a bit bolder and sauntered over to him. “Tell me, my Olaf,” she purred. “What is your heart’s desire?”

She hoped he couldn’t hear the elevated thrumming of her heart. She didn’t know what possessed her to add the possessive pronoun.

“Ask her where we can find the Baudelaires!” One of the henchpeople suggested.

“Ask her about the sugar bowl!” Esmé demanded.

 _My heart’s desire..._  Olaf wondered. Did he even have a heart left that could desire something? 

Oddly, his parents were the first thought that sprang into his head. But even Madame Lulu wasn’t powerful enough to awaken the dead. Olaf would have to wonder about that later... he hadn't thought of his parents in a long time. He suddenly remembered a conversation about that night at the opera just moments before Jacques... If there was one thing he regretted, it was Jacques's death. He wondered if Beatrice ever regretted her responsibility in his own parents' deaths.  _Of course she didn't,_ he thought viciously.

“Okay, Madame Lulu,” Olaf said instead, lowering himself into the empty chair across from her. “Did one of the Baudelaire parents survive the fire?” He tried to keep the desperation in his voice to a minimum. It wouldn’t do for the fortune teller to know how badly he wanted this information.

 _Oh, god, I have no idea!_ Kit thought frantically.

She leaned over the table and with a long, fake-taloned fingernail, she motioned for Olaf to come toward her. Olaf leaned closer to the crystal ball and to Lulu. There was an exotic perfume about her but beneath it he could have sworn he smelled... lavender? He tried to get a glimpse of the fortune teller’s eyes behind the veil, but she abruptly looked down at the ball.

Kit had to stall him. She might be able to find out more but not until she could make a phone call. She suddenly sat back straight up in her chair and declared, “You will have your answer in morning.”

The entire troupe groaned collectively. Olaf twitched in surprise. He'd forgotten they were all in the tent.

“The morning?!” Olaf groaned.

“That is how crystal ball works. Day shift, night shift... like a cannery.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do tonight?” Esmé complained.

“We toast!” Olaf declared, turning to face his troupe with a triumphant grin.

Kit’s veiled brow furrowed in confusion. _But... I didn’t tell him anything?_

“To finally getting answers to all of our questions!” He turned back around to Lulu and tried to mimic her accent with a sly smile. “At reasonable group rate!” Kit forced out an airy laugh.

“Break out the trunk wine!” Olaf ordered.


	2. Chapter 2

After the first box of wine, Olaf was feeling much less tense than when they’d first arrived. They were reasonably safe from being discovered this far out in the Hinterlands, plus Olaf was dead according to that trash newspaper that everyone just conveniently believed without question. They’d been given modest accommodations within the carnival (they fell far short of Esmé’s expectations but Olaf had slept in much worse places, so he wasn’t complaining). They were going to get answers to all their burning questions. And... there was something oddly familiar about the fortune teller that Olaf couldn’t put his finger on. 

All things considered, she was a decent sport about her fortune-telling tent being currently occupied by a loud troupe of degenerates. The troupe had all been passed over when it came to the distribution of the wine. Olaf groaned in annoyance when the box was empty and demanded another. His bald associate informed him that there weren’t anymore in the trunk. Kit had a fairly decent stock of wine but wondered if it would help or hurt her situation by letting Olaf get drunker than he already was. She did smile lightly when she remembered that upon opening the box of wine, Olaf poured a glass and handed it in Esmé's direction. 

"Darling, I already have a glass," Esmé said as she raised it to her lips.

"It's not for you, it's for her," Olaf said absentmindedly and pointing to Lulu. Kit accepted it graciously with a coy smile (which she realized no one could see due to her veil). The glass sat untouched, however, and Kit only hoped that her numerous layers and loose skirt hid her condition well enough. 

After she felt like he’d had enough wine to easily agree to things, Kit wondered aloud how Olaf planned to pay for her fortune-telling services. 

“Oh, Lulu, once we have those orphans, we’ll have enough money for you to name your own price!”

“Madame Lulu was thinking of more... unconventional form of payment,” Lulu said suggestively. 

“Ohhh,” Olaf practically growled. “What did you have in mind?” 

Esmé let out an audible noise of protest, but Olaf reached behind him and put his hand over her mouth. 

Lulu fixed him with a captivating stare that held him in place even half-hidden from her veil. 

“Caligari Carnival has fallen on hard times,” she said, all traces of suggestion vanished. 

Olaf looked confused.  _ Well, that’s not where I thought this was going _ , he thought somewhat sheepishly. 

“We need big new act with talented actor to bring in tourists,” Lulu continued, “or carnival will be, how you say, kaput and no more fortune-telling.”

“I’ll do it!” Olaf agreed automatically. 

Lulu clapped her hands in delight. “Marvelous!” 

Kit was glad her suspicion had been correct. Regardless of whatever he was scheming or plotting, Olaf’s true passion was theatrics. She’d suspected he wouldn’t be able to resist a chance to be in the spotlight. 

“Hmm, Ringmaster Olaf,” Olaf mused aloud. 

“Has a nice ring to it, boss,” the hook-handed man said. 

There had been a jarring interruption when a girl and boy in one oversized blouse and pair of trousers and an infant covered in a bad wig came in to apply for jobs in the freak show. Kit recognized the Baudelaire orphans immediately and wondered how they could have gotten so far out into the Hinterlands on their own. Unless they’d arrived with... She glanced briefly at Olaf. But no, they couldn’t possibly have. If Olaf recognized them, he hid it well and played along with their little audition for the freak show. It broke Kit’s heart to watch them subject themselves to humiliation, but she knew she had to play her part as well, so she remained aloof and indifferent. As soon as she felt it was safe, she immediately offered them all jobs as “freaks” and directed them to the freak caravan. At least she could keep them safe now. 

Olaf watched the two-headed person and the “wolf baby” leave the tent and complained again about the absence of wine. She briefly thought about the negative consequences of providing further alcohol to Olaf, but she disregarded them in the hope of learning useful information. 

“Oh, don’t be worrying, my Olaf,” Lulu said as she stood and discreetly poured her own glass of wine into a nearby planter. “I am having of better wine, I think, than this boxed Merlot.” She retrieved two bottles of Shiraz and set them on the table. 

“Well, well,” Esmé remarked. “The gypsy may have the worst sense of fashion I’ve ever seen, but at least she has fairly decent taste in wine.”

Olaf was already plenty drunk. He whipped his head around as he remained planted to his seat and looked up at Lulu through his inebriated fog. 

“What an accommodating host!” Olaf exclaimed. He sprang to his feet, swaying slightly, and tried to seize Lulu’s hand. She jerked it away and Olaf frowned. “Come now, Lulu," he chided. "I don't bite... unless that's your thing," he added with a tipsy shrug. "You know wh-what we should do?” He slurred. “We should  _ dance! _  My victory is in our grasp!” 

“Oh, you like to dance, my Olaf?” Lulu asked.

Esmé sprang up from her own seat and shot Lulu a look of pure venom. 

“Olaf,” she said forcefully. "You dance with  _me,_  remember?”

“If this were the 1700s,” Olaf said woozily, “we’d all have dance cards. And everyone would dance with everyone.”

“Well, it’s  _ not _ the 1700s,” Esmé insisted. “Darling, don’t you think you’ve had enough wine?”

Olaf staggered over to her, his eyes unfocused and a punch-drunk smile upon his face. He reached up to touch her face and poked roughly at the corners of her mouth. “Esmé... turn that frown... upside down. We’re celebrating!” 

“Not sure why,” Esmé retorted. “The gypsy hasn’t told you anything of value yet.”

“Don’t be such a sour puss, dearest.” Olaf put a drunken arm around her shoulder. Esmé leaned into him and sneered at Madame Lulu. An involuntary pang of nostalgia hit Kit; he used to call her “dearest"... But that was years and years ago. He’d probably forgotten all about that by now.

“Perhaps the Esmé lady has fair point. Maybe is bed time. Crystal ball and its wielder must be well-rested for big fortune telling in morning,” Lulu suggested firmly. 

Some of Olaf’s troupe groaned, but Olaf shushed them with a wave of his hand. “No, no. Dear Lulu has been gracious enough to give us comfortable places to sleep, wine to drink—”

“For you, maybe,” the hook-handed man mumbled. He was fortunate that Olaf didn’t hear him. 

“We should not intrude upon her hospitality any further... farther? Ferther? Any more tonight! Besides, we need her well rested to read my very important fortune.”

Kit immersed herself fully into her character. “Oh, my Olaf,” she said as she placed a hand on his shoulder, “you are as right as you are handsome.”

“Handsome?” Esmé repeated sharply. 

“Is business term, please,” Lulu replied with a condescending nod in Esmé’s direction. Olaf glanced down at his shoulder, where Lulu’s hand still rested. He tried and failed once more to catch her eyes behind the veil.  _ Who  _ is _ this woman? _ He wondered for the second time that night. 

As the exited the tent into the cool night air, Esmé insisted on supporting Olaf as they staggered to their tent. 

“Goodnight, my Olaf!” Lulu called out. 

Olaf twisted in Esmé’s grasp to look back at the fortune-telling tent. He waved drunkenly and Esmé paused long enough to turn and declare possessively, “ _ MY  _ Olaf.”

Lulu scoffed and waved her hands dismissively. “Does not matter.”

Olaf continued to maintain he could walk unaided. 

“Darling, you can’t,” Esmé said with an exasperated sigh.

“I can!” Olaf insisted. Esmé relinquished her arm from around his waist and let him stand unassisted. “See, look!” Olaf said as he collapsed to the ground. 

Kit barely stifled her snort of laughter.  _ The more things change,  _ she thought,  _ the more they stay the same. _ Esmé sighed and helped Olaf to his feet. Kit watched the pair walk off to the tent she’d given them to sleep in with a bittersweet, wistful smile. After all of the horrible, unforgivable things he’d done, it was astonishing to her that he could still make her laugh. But, she reminded herself it wasn’t her place to laugh at his ridiculous antics anymore... it was Esmé’s. 

Kit sighed with resignation as she entered her tent and sealed the flaps. She never would have pictured those two together. She knew Esmé hadn’t loved Jerome. If he hadn’t owned that penthouse, Esmé would have never paid him a moment’s notice, much less married him. 

She had a lot to think about. She had to somehow give Olaf an answer he wanted to keep him at the carnival long enough to find out what his next move would be. She had to keep the Baudelaires safe without Olaf or any of his minions finding out what she was up to. She wondered if she should reveal herself to the orphans. She decided to wait... they’d been through so much, they might not trust her.  _ But they trusted Jacques _ , she reminded herself. She’d sleep on it and see how she felt in the morning. 


	3. Chapter 3

The following morning, Olaf and Esmé were bickering in their tent. Olaf stood before a full-length mirror and tried numerous times to adjust a scarf to his liking. He was supposed to meet with Madame Lulu just before sunrise for her to read the crystal ball. Esmé was lounging on a sofa while the bald henchman painted a portrait of her. 

“I don’t trust that Madame Lulu,” Esmé asserted.

“Why?” Olaf asked absentmindedly. That scarf was not cooperating. 

“She’s a witchy woman in the Hinterlands who runs a creepy carnival?” She replied as if it was the most obvious reason in the world.

“Exactly – what’s not to trust?” Olaf sounded completely unconcerned, which only fueled Esmé’s displeasure. 

“Well, her accent sounds fake,” Esmé said aggressively. 

“Your accent sounds fake,” Olaf countered without thinking. He winced to himself. He would pay for that one. 

Sure enough, Esmé scoffed with disgust. “If she’s  _ so _ good at fortune-telling, she would have her own show in the city... not be all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“I tried that for nine years and look where that got me.” 

“I DON’T LIKE THE WAY SHE LOOKS AT YOU,” Esmé finally admitted savagely. 

“Ahhh, there it is.” Olaf chuckled, thinking Esmé was just being ridiculous. But then he remembered the involuntary shudder he’d gotten when Lulu had lightly touched his shoulder. There was just  _ something _ about her that he couldn’t figure out. Rather than give Esmé any reason to grow suspicious, he did what he always does to divert attention away from the issue – he told an exaggerated story. 

“Darling,” he began patronizingly. “When I was on stage, or occasionally in several minimum-security penitentiaries, strange women would offer me things all the time. Flowers, tasteful photographs, marriage proposals. Some were quite wealthy. Rich dowagers enchanted by my roguish charm with no head for estate planning. And did I accept?” Olaf paused, realizing the flaw in this story. 

“Well, that’s not the point," he continued hastily. "You saw what that fortune teller can do! She can tell us everything we need. All we have to do is... butter her up.”

Olaf glanced at his reflection and still wasn’t satisfied with the scarf. The damn thing never gave him problems before. His hands shook with anxious energy, which he didn’t understand at all. A soft breeze blew through the tent and with it came the fleeting scent of lavender. His mind flashed back once again to Madame Lulu gently touching his shoulder and the enticing purr in her voice. He let out a weak chuckle and firmly told himself that his nerves were perfectly justifiable. After all, he was about to find out if  _ Beatrice _ had somehow survived. If one of the Baudelaire parents did manage to survive, Olaf just knew it would be her. It was just his rotten luck. 

He nodded in a satisfied sort of way.  _ Yes, _ he affirmed to himself,  _ that’s definitely why my nerves are shot. It has absolutely  _ nothing _ to do with the beautifully mysterious fortune teller. _

He stepped away from the mirror and Esmé moved to stand. “I’ll go with you,” she said forcefully. 

“No, no!” Olaf replied a little too quickly. “You stay here and, uh, finish your portrait. I’ll be right back.”

Esmé called after him but he ignored her, swiftly slipping through the slit in the tent and fiddling with his scarf all the way to the fortune-telling tent. 

When he entered the tent, it was dimly lit and... empty. 

“Um... Lulu?” He called. 

“In crystal ball room, my Olaf!” Came her reply. 

Olaf moved further through the tent and swept the beaded curtain aside to enter the crystal ball room. Madame Lulu had been waiting for him. He scowled slightly when he saw she was still wearing the veil. He  _ had _ to find out what she looked like underneath all of her own smoke and mirrors. 

“You had good sleepings, I hope?” Lulu asked. “Pleasant dreams?” 

“Uh... sure,” Olaf mumbled.

“Sit and we shall begin,” Lulu instructed. 

Olaf sat obediently and peered at the fortune teller on the other side of the glass orb nestled in the center of the table. He placed his elbows on the table and extended his hands. Kit hesitated, and she immediately thought of an old submarine captain who would caution her against hesitating, lest she be lost. As she reached to take his hands, Olaf said, “I’m glad we’re all alone, Lulu.”

Kit’s gasp went unheard, thankfully, since Olaf continued to speak in a low inviting tone. “I have so many very  _ big... _  questions. If you could convince the spirits to knock out a few in one go, I’d be willing to offer you an extra special reward.” 

Her hands were still extended. She felt trapped in a solitary moment where she could neither move forward or turn back. Olaf took her hands and held them lightly. For such an intimidating presence, the fortune teller had petite, delicate hands. He was hit with another wave of familiarity that he just couldn’t place. He moved his thumb to brush it over the back of Lulu’s hand and stopped short when he encountered a rough, uneven spot. Almost like... “A scar?” Olaf finished aloud.

He tried to get a better look at it but Lulu snatched her hands away. 

“We must begin fortune-telling now,” Lulu said shakily. “Or risk missing spirits for today. Then Olaf will have to wait until tomorrow for answer to big question.”

Olaf’s mind reeled. In that moment, he didn’t give a damn about a survivor of any fire. His heart's desire just then was to know the identity of this fortune teller. That scar... he knew a woman, or had once known a woman, with a scar just like it. He knew it well because he’d been with her when she’d gotten it...

~~~~~~~~~~

_ He'd been with the Snicket twins on an assignment to steal (although VFD had used the term “liberate”) some artifact from a museum. VFD had insisted the item was wrongfully taken from the proper owner and put on display in the museum – and VFD was charged with returning it. The details were fuzzy given that it had been almost twenty years ago. What he did remember was that the museum’s night security guard had been alerted to their presence when Jacques had sneezed. They were sneaking to the back exit of the museum, which let out into the loading dock. The entire area was enclosed by a tall fence with barbed wire at its top. Snicket had insisted they’d have to climb it or risk being caught. Jacques went first and his sister followed. Olaf brought up the rear and reached the top of the fence just as she was trying to climb over the barbed wire. She hissed in pain as one of the barbs pierced the back of her hand. She insisted she was fine through grit teeth and only when they’d all made it over the fence and had run several blocks away did any of them speak.  _

_ “That was too close,” she’d said, clutching her side and sucking on her injured hand. “You had to pick  _ that _moment to sneeze?!"_

_ “How am I supposed to not sneeze?!” _

_ “It’s that damn mustache,” Olaf had jibed. He’d produced a snowy white handkerchief for her to wrap her hand in.  _

_ “It’ll get ruined though,” she’d fretted.  _

_ “So?” _

_ She wrapped her hand in the kerchief and after they’d all caught their breath, they trekked quietly back to their rendezvous point.  _

_ She’d unwrapped her hand when they’d settled, and Olaf had seen that the injury was deeper than it had first appeared. She would probably need stitches or risk having a scar and he told her so.  _

_ “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry so much, O...” _

_ ~~~~~~~~~~ _

“O...?” She said quietly, forgetting to disguise her voice. Olaf snapped out of his musing and peered sharply at her.  _ Did she just call me...? _

Kit mentally kicked herself. She’d been remembering how she’d gotten that scar too. Specifically, how he’d been the one nagging her about getting stitches and she’d insisted it would be fine.  _ How could I be so stupid?! _

Olaf was examining her with narrow eyes. Surely, he’d imagined her voice. Yes, that was it. He’d imagined her voice because he’d been thinking about her. He shook his head to clear any lingering memories. 

“So, you said something about spirits and their annoying timekeeping?” Olaf asked, trying to keep himself from losing all composure. He had to get out of this tent. It was much too stuffy. He tugged on the scarf he’d spent so much time trying to situate, suddenly feeling like it was strangling him.

“Yes! Yes, spirits are arriving. I feel it in the air...” Lulu said in her foreign accent. 

“I don’t feel anyt—” He stopped abruptly when he felt a distinct chill pass over the room. “What was that?”

“Is spirits arriving!”

“Whose spirits, exactly?” 

“Ghosts!” Lulu exclaimed. “From your past.”

Olaf shuddered again.  _ Great,  _ he thought.  _ Just the thing I was trying to get rid of. _

“Does this make you nervous?” Lulu asked after seeing him tense.

“Who? Me?” Olaf scoffed. “I have no secrets and absolutely nothing to hide.”

“Good!” Lulu declared. “Magic is very fragile thing, like dragonfly... or woman in dragonfly costume.”

Kit smirked beneath the veil at Olaf’s visibly shaken demeanor.  _ No secrets, my ass, _ she thought.  _ We both know that was a downright lie. Anyone with the insignia that adorns both of our ankles has secrets. _

“How did you know...?” Olaf hissed in a terrified whisper as the image of a woman in a high-couture dress with dragonfly wings appeared in the crystal ball. 

“Spirits know everything,” she replied menacingly. “You come to Madame Lulu to ask about survivor of Baudelaire fire... and Madame Lulu has your answer.”

Olaf leaned forward, barely aware of anything else around him.  _ Right. The Baudelaire fire. One of the three questions I need answered. Which is why we’re here... Along with the location of the orphans and the identity of this woman... _  No, that wasn't right... _  the location of the sugar bowl.  _ Olaf shook his head again but the incessant need to discover this woman’s identity suddenly burned as brightly as his ever-pressing need for revenge against Beatrice. 

“There is indeed a survivor of the fire,” Lulu revealed ominously. 

“NOOOOOO!” Olaf roared as the lights in the tent extinguished and he was left in total darkness. 


	4. Chapter 4

When Olaf stormed back into the tent where he’d slept the previous night, Esmé looked alarmed. 

“Darling, are you alright?” She asked nervously. “We heard you shout.”

“No, I am not all right!” Olaf roared. “One of those fucking parents survived the fire and is hiding in the goddamn mountains!” 

Esmé regarded him from a safe distance. She’d seen him angry before, but not this angry. “Darling...” she began cautiously, “why don’t you just sit down and take a deep breath. We can just burn the survivor in the mountains.” Some of her tension waned when Olaf did sit down. He snatched the scarf off of his neck and threw it into the corner. Esmé approached him gingerly and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Fuck off,” he spat and shrugged his shoulder away. Esmé stared open mouthed at him.  _ How dare he? _

She couldn’t fathom why he was taking the news so badly. Sure, it wasn’t the answer they’d been hoping for... but this felt like a severe overreaction, even for Olaf. 

“Darling,” she said more forcefully. “What exactly happened in that tent?”

When Olaf didn’t answer, Esmé balled her hands into fists and squeezed so tightly that her own fingernails left indentions in her palms. 

“I said... What. Happened. In that tent?”

“And I said fuck off!” Olaf roared. 

Esmé felt her anger reach a dangerous peak. “Listen, you! I don’t know  _ what _ has gotten you in such a foul mood besides Beatrice or Bertrand, but you’d better start singing a different tune, mister! I will _not_ have you speak to me like one of your underlings. Furthermore, you committed yourself and this entire troupe into performing for that tramp’s  _ stupid _ circus and it's almost showtime!” 

Olaf felt himself deflate as a splitting headache surfaced. He sighed deeply and let his head loll back against the sofa. There was nothing he could do about either of his problems right this minute. They would deal with the Baudelaire parent in the mountains soon enough. As for the identity of the gypsy... he suspected but he refused to entertain the notion. 

He clambered to his feet and sighed again. “As we say in showbiz... the show must go on,” he said with a grimace. He cast Esmé a forced smile and bellowed, “SOMEONE BRING ME MY RINGMASTER’S HAT!”

* * *

Olaf burst into the dressing room tent and snarled, “You know, it’s bad enough I have to kill time in a crummy carnival waiting for mystical spirits to solve my problems... But I make the best of it.” 

His henchpeople gave him a wide berth and looked upon him with apprehension. Even Esmé remained silent. 

“I give one of my  _ greatest _ performances,” Olaf continued, “and there’s hardly  _ anyone _ in the audience!”

“There were three people...” mumbled the henchperson of indeterminate gender. 

The freaks nodded encouragingly. 

“I tell you Caligari Carnival is on hard times,” Lulu offered as an explanation to the poor turnout. “Is not good business model to have carnival in Hinterlands. The roller coaster is on... what’s the word? Fritz! And frankly, roving pack of starving lions  _ really _ cuts down on tourist trade...”

Olaf balled his fists in frustration. “I didn’t give up a glamorous theatrical career to be performing to nearly-empty houses.”

“I thought you gave it up to chase after those orphans?” The Hook-handed man supplied. 

_ “They are not orphans if one the parents is still alive!” _ Olaf shrieked furiously. 

All of his henchpeople and the freaks jumped at his outburst. 

Kit noticed the Baudelaires, disguised as the wolf-baby and the two-headed freak, looking nervous. “Now now!” She crooned. “Spirit world will be answering all your questions very soon, please! My Olaf must have little bit more patience.”

“I’m tired of patience...” Olaf said sinisterly. “If you want a mule to move, you can reward it with a carrot or you can hit it with a stick. I want answers to my questions and I want an audience worthy of my greatness. I need to find a way to fill the stands with adoring crowds and yet remind certain people that I am a force to be feared and obeyed. But what could possibly do that all the way out here?”

As he spoke, his attention shifted from Madame Lulu, Esmé, and his troupe to the faded painting on the wall behind them. In the painting stood a man bearing a striking resemblance to Ike Anwhistle who was holding a whip, surrounded by fierce lions. Overhead in fancy writing read “Vicious Feline Display.” 

Olaf mouthed the words silently as a wicked grin spread across his face.  “Maybe... I can beat two mules with one stick. I need to run an errand. While I’m gone I need all of you to dig a pit under the big top.”

Kit had no idea what he was up to, but she suspected it was nothing good. “M-my Olaf is leaving?” She managed.

“Yes...” Olaf practically purred. “To get you a gift.”

Kit was taken aback. “Gift? What kind of gift?”

“Not any of my bracelets!” Esmé exclaimed as she protectively covered her wrists. 

Madame Lulu peered at her with amusement. Olaf strode purposely over to Lulu with a roguish grin. “It’s a surprise,” he murmured as he took her hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing it softly. He caught another whiff of lavender as her hand was pressed to his mouth. Before releasing her, he peered at the scar once more. 

He released her hand and looked passed her at Esmé, who raised her eyebrows suspiciously at him. He eyed the tagliatelle grande clasped at her hip and plucked it from her waist. “I’ll need to borrow this.” 

Without another word, he strode from the tent. As soon as he was gone, Esmé’s eyes narrowed in loathing. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Madame Lulu clapped her hands loudly. 

“Okay, carnival freaks and troupe of Olaf. There is much work to be doing. Olaf demands big pit be dug! Madame Lulu must go make adjustments to crystal ball for next big spirit arrival.”

“I am  _ not _ digging a pit,” Esmé scoffed. “I just had my nails done.”

The Baudelaires stood together as the members of Olaf’s troupe began looking for shovels. Violet wondered how they would be able to help dig the pit without revealing themselves. They could barely hold an ear of corn steady; a shovel would be nearly impossible to maneuver.

“Beverly and Elliot,” Madame Lulu called, “I am needing to speak to you in fortune-telling tent before you begin digging pit, please. Chabo, too.”

“Olaf said everyone has to dig,” Esmé said in a commanding voice. “Except me, because I’m his girlfriend.”

“New carnival employees must be explained carnival rules and procedures, please,” Lulu insisted. 

“Fine. Freaks, go on to the tent then. Madame Lulu will be along shortly,” Esmé ordered. “I just need to have one quick word with her first.”

Esmé grasped Lulu’s wrist tightly and drug her outside. “Tell me,” Esmé said, “what do you think of my dress.”

“It is very nice, please,” Lulu remarked, confused. 

“I know your little secret,” Esmé said threateningly. 

Kit resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She highly doubted it. Esmé was always terrible at disguises. “I don’t understand, please, what MRS. Squalor is saying,” Lulu played along, over-exaggerating her accent on Esmé’s surname.

“It’s MS. Squalor,” Esmé corrected. “Drop the accent. It doesn’t fool me.  _ I know who you really are _ .”

For a flicker of an instant, Kit worried. She never let her fear betray her, however, as she kept her forced smile and foreign accent. “Of course you do. I am Madame Lulu, fortune teller extraordinaire at Caligari Carnival!” She waved her hands in front of her face for added dramatics and couldn’t help but think that it was something Olaf would probably do. 

“And I am Esmé Gigi Genevieve Squalor,” Esmé said boomingly, imitating Lulu’s hand motions. “The city’s sixth most important financial adviser, so don’t treat me like some school librarian who just stepped off the trolley!” She took several steps forward, forcing Lulu to move backwards until her back was pressed against a rusty old ticket booth.

Esmé laughed cruelly. “That pathetic makeup. That  _ ludicrous _ wig. I know what you’re doing,” she threatened. 

“And what, please, is that?” Lulu asked meekly. Kit tried to keep her breathing in check. Esmé had no way of knowing who she really was or that she was trying to find a way to help the Baudelaires. She doubted Esmé even knew the Baudelaires were here.  _ But what about the sugar bowl _ ? Was it possible that Esmé knew the sugar bowl was on its way to their very location?

Esmé lunged forward and stopped when her face was mere inches from Kit’s. “ _ You’re trying to STEAL MY BOYFRIEND!”  _

Kit let out an incredulous laugh of relief and stammered, “W-what? No... Please... I do not know  _ what _ you are talking about, please.” Such was her relief that Esmé wasn’t suspicious of Kit’s involvement with the sugar bowl... or that she didn’t realize who Kit actually was. She couldn’t keep herself from thinking,  _ You, dear Esmé, are the one who stole my boyfriend if you want to get technical... _

“Please,” Esmé muttered. 

“Is what I just said,” Lulu chuckled. 

“Look, it’s bad enough I have been dragged all over the Hinterlands. And there’s no in restaurants, no in boutiques. I’m forced to make my own dress out of a few scraps of tent.”

Kit glanced at the tent Esmé was looking at and saw that it indeed had been cut up. 

“Should Madame Lulu be calling you Esmé O’Hara from now on, then?”

“Shut up, gypsy. I will not be thrown over for a carny,” Esmé hissed. She moved to stand a few inches away from Kit again and lowered her voice. “Stay the fuck away from my boyfriend or I don’t know what I’ll do,” she said menacingly. 

Kit maintained her demeanor and forced an indifferent smile. She never remembered Esmé being this ruthless and cutthroat. The years had hardened her. 

“Make your business with those freaks quick so they can get to digging,” Esmé commanded. 

“Will be, how you say, lickity splitting,” Lulu assured her. 

She smiled sweetly and sidestepped passed Esmé, trying not to break into a run as she moved swiftly toward her own tent.


	5. Chapter 5

As Olaf drove through the Hinterlands, he kept trying to force away the suspicion that had been growing ever since that fortune teller had first laid a hand on him. His mind screamed at him that it made total sense - the scar on the back of her hand, the faint scent of lavender every time he was near her, and the subtle change in her voice when she’d called his name that morning. Except, she hadn't said his name. _S_ _he called me O_.

Olaf chided himself. A woman of her skills and talent wouldn’t be all the way out here in the Hinterlands with nothing to do but manage a derelict carnival. That would be such a waste for one of their most formidable field agents. Kit Snicket would be one of the ones hand-selected to be protecting the sugar bowl or some other equally important task. Not playing dress-up and conning tourists out of their pocket change for hokey fortune-telling.

 _There’s no way it’s her. Besides, I only heard her say O because I was thinking about the night she got that damn scar. Lulu probably said “oh” anyway,_ Olaf rationalized.

He turned his musings from Lulu to those new freaks who just happened to show up hours after he had. A girl, a boy, and a baby... he knew coincidences were possible, but this one seemed too convenient. And some of the things from their getup had looked awfully familiar. He abruptly pulled over and leapt out of the car. He wrenched the trunk open with more force than necessary and dug around inside the messy trunk. Some of the miscellaneous costume accouterments were missing.

“If those freaks aren’t the Baudelaires, I’ll eat my ringmaster hat,” Olaf said to himself. Just then, he heard distant roaring and remembered his errand. He got back in the car and drove with a plotting smile. It turned out, he didn’t need the mystical spirits to answer one of his questions, which meant there was only one left...

* * *

Inside the fortune-telling tent, Klaus and Violet glanced nervously at each other. They didn’t know what to expect but they had a feeling they weren’t there for Madame Lulu to give them their employee orientation.

The fortune teller herself appeared moments later and secured the flaps of the tent closed. When she turned around, she had removed her veil and headpiece. Her hair was shorter and smoother; it was also a much lighter brown than the dark frizzy mane of Madame Lulu. She held the veil and wig in her hand and when she spoke, her voice was kind and gentle without any hint of accent.

“Baudelaires, I know you don’t know me but I want to help you,” Kit said.

Violet and Klaus shared another worried look. “Uhh, we don’t know what you’re talking about, Madame Lulu,” Violet said in her own disguised voice.

“My name isn’t Madame Lulu. It’s Kit. Kit Snicket.”

“Snicket?” Klaus repeated sharply.

“That’s right,” Kit said. “And I know you aren’t ‘Beverly and Elliot’ or 'Chabo the wolf baby.' You’re Klaus, Violet, and Sunny Baudelaire. And we have been trying to help you ever since your house burned down.”

“We met a Snicket not long ago,” Violet began warily. “His name was—”

“Jacques,” Kit supplied with a sad smile. “He was my brother.”

“We... we’re sorry to have to tell you this, but—”

“I know, Baudelaires,” Kit said. “I know my brother is dead.”

“We’re so sorry,” Violet expressed.

“I also know you three had nothing to do with it,” Kit assured them. She placed a gentle hand on Violet’s arm, who smiled warmly at her.

“So, why do you want to help us?” Klaus asked.

“Because I belong to the same organization your parents did. You children deserve to be in a home with a guardian who will love and care for you... not disguising yourselves at a carnival in the Hinterlands.”

Kit produced a heavy book from beneath a table.

 _“ The Incomplete History of Secret Organizations!”_ Violet exclaimed quietly.

“There was a woman at Prufrock Prep who was helping us try to find this book,” Klaus explained.

“I know,” Kit said. “Her name is Olivia Caliban and she is an asset to VFD. She should be on her way back here with the sugar bowl. I expect her anytime now.”

“Splenda?” Sunny asked, which meant, “What’s so important about the sugar bowl?”

“Before I can tell you that, I’ll have to bring you up to speed on a few other things first, I’m afraid.”

Kit dug around in a box of films. “And actually,” she continued, “I think my brother can explain it better than I can.”

The Baudelaires looked confused, since everyone in that tent knew that Jacques was beyond the ability to explain anything anymore. Kit found the film reel she was search for and hooked it up to the small projector hidden under the crystal ball table.

Jacques appeared on a worn piece of canvas that was being used as a projector screen. He spoke of code phrases and how to use them to identify a friend or foe. Jacquelyn appeared on the screen and mentioned Volunteer Feline Detectives. Larry-your-waiter flashed on screen and asked, “Well young lady, have you been good to your mother?” Which apparently meant “run away, your house is on fire.” A man the Baudelaires had never seen before except in a strange film about zombies and snow appeared, modeling various disguises. A man who resembled Jacques appeared and mentioned reports about events in a town called Stain’d-by-the-sea. The Baudelaires watched in amazed silence as each of their former guardians appeared on the screen, adding bits of information to the video.

The reel clicked as it reached the end of the film. The three children looked at Kit in shock and awe.

“Our parents... were part of all this?” Klaus asked dubiously.

“Oh, yes,” Kit replied.

“You told Count Olaf that one of our parents survived the fire...” Violet said. “Is it true?”

Kit offered them an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Baudelaires. I only said that to keep him here.”

The orphans’ faces fell.

“But,” Kit went on. “If my brother believed there was a survivor, then it must be true. His research is never wrong.”

“I still don’t understand something,” Violet said. “It seems like VFD is everywhere. Even Count Olaf has the tattoo. So, is VFD good or bad?”

“It's both, I'm afraid. I wish I could tell you children everything, but we have very little time,” Kit said. “Olaf will be back any minute and he can’t catch you here... especially with me.”

“Why? Do you know each other?” Klaus demanded.

Kit paused. “We did. A long time ago.”

The three Baudelaires started to protest, but Kit hushed them. “I promise to tell you everything once we get out of here.”

“We?” Violet repeated hopefully.

“Yes. As soon as Olivia gets back, all of us are leaving this carnival together. We will hide the sugar bowl at VFD Headquarters up in the mountains and we will find a safe home for you children.”

“We’ll never be safe as long as Olaf is around,” Klaus said quietly.

“I know someone who can keep you well-hidden, children,” Kit assured them. “Trust me.”

“What about the survivor of the fire?” Klaus asked.

“Yes,” Violet agreed. “If one of our parents is alive, we have to find them.”

“We will,” Kit promised. “But we have to get you children to safety first.”

“No, we want to come with you,” Violet argued.

“It’s too dangerous. You were right when you said Olaf wouldn’t stop trying to find you... but I’m afraid it’s not because he wants to steal your fortune. Besides, he isn't the only enemy we have to worry about.”

“What?” Klaus said sharply.

Kit inhaled sharply through her nose and held her hand to her mouth. “I’ve said too much, already. Children, listen to me. Your parents chose to raise you unaware of VFD. They made that choice for a reason. If you continue down this path, you may learn things you didn’t want to know.”

“We can handle it,” Violet said confidently.

Kit looked at their young, eager faces and they reminded her so much of herself and her brothers when they were around those ages. If she had known then what she knew now... would she have joined so willingly?

“You think that now, but...” Kit trailed off.

“But what?”

Before Kit could answer, she heard the sound of tires crunching against gravel.

“Count Olaf!” Violet declared.

“He’s back!” Kit hissed. “Hurry, get back into your disguises. Keep an eye out for a weathered old taxi. As soon as it arrives, we are all leaving this place.”

Kit hurriedly put her own disguise back on. She sneaked the children out of the back of the tent and was about to walk out the front entrance when Olaf strode in, looking smug.

“Oh, my Olaf, you are back,” Lulu said, trying to sound pleased. She hoped the quiver in her voice was just in her imagination.

“Do you hear that?” Olaf asked, holding a hand to his ear. The sound of angry roars carried from the Big Top tent.

“Is that...”

“Lions?” Olaf finished for her. “Yes. And they’ll be the star attraction of your new show tomorrow.”

“New... show?”

“Crowds love violence and sloppy eating. We learned that from those new freaks you acquired. I figured, combine the two into one act. Let the lions eat one of your freaks while the crowd cheers on.”

 _He’s gone completely mad_.

“But, my Olaf... Freaks so hard to come by in Hinterlands. Where will Madame Lulu find replacement?”

“You just got three... two new ones,” Olaf reminded her.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, “I am forgetting of new freaks.”

“You don’t sound excited about your gift,” Olaf observed.

“Oh, no no. I am very excited. Just... such a big show with famous actor as ringleader... Madame Lulu is... shocked.”

“Madame Lulu... If that’s your real name,” Olaf growled as he took a few steps toward her. Just as she’d done earlier with Esmé, she backed up, until she bumped into the crystal ball table. “I’ve got a question.”

“Ohh, my Olaf,” she purred, stroking his shoulder with one long fingernail. “Madame Lulu has told you. Spirits only answer big question in morning.”

“This isn’t a question for your spirits or your glass ball. It’s for you.”

“Oh?”

“Why won’t you take off that veil?”

He was so close to her, Kit could feel the heat from his breath. “Is... is necessary for Madame Lulu’s spirit readings,” Kit made up furiously. “Is to help keep the inner eye from being clouded by mundane world.”

“Oh, is that right?” Olaf asked, barely above a whisper. “I think...” He reached forward. Kit was paralyzed in place. “You’re lying to me,” Olaf finished with a growl as he snatched the veil up and away from Kit’s face. She drew in a sharp breath and held it. Olaf staggered backwards, clutching the veil in a closed fist and using his other hand to steady himself against the chair he’d backed into.

Her face was heavily disguised with makeup and the deep, dark brown hair didn’t look quite right on her... but there was no mistaking her blue-grey eyes. Though she’d tried to mask them with thick black eyeliner and smokey eye shadow, he would recognize those eyes even if they were surrounded by a thousand others. They were the color of the sky on an overcast day - every soft often, the blue could be seen through a swirl of grey. He had always been captivated by her eyes.

“It _is_ you!” He hissed. 

Kit’s heart was pounding hard against her chest. She was still frozen in place. Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, Kit heard Esmé shouting for Olaf. Her voice was getting closer. Olaf had turned white as a sheet. Kit braced herself for what she knew must be coming. He would tell Esmé who Madame Lulu really was and then... Kit wasn’t sure what they’d do.

Instead, Olaf threw the veil back at her. “Put it back on and don’t come out of this tent.”

He stormed out of the tent in search of Esmé. Kit let out a shaky breath and collapsed into a chair. She ran her own forefinger over the scar on her hand. She shook the old memory away and placed a hand on her stomach, where her touch was responded to with a tiny kick.


	6. Chapter 6

“But darling,” Esmé protested. “I wanted to see the look on Lulu’s face when she found out about the lions!” 

“They were my idea!” Olaf argued. 

“Still,” Esmé pouted. “Was she shocked? Disgusted? Did she cry?”

“What? No... she was... um, enthusiastic,” Olaf finished distractedly. He’d suspected but hadn’t let himself believe it was true. But it was her. 

“What do you mean, ‘enthusiastic’?” Esmé demanded with narrowed eyes. 

“Nothing, she just...” he trailed off. 

“Olaf, I’m getting a little tired of you catering to her every need and  _ ignoring me _ .” 

“Darling, relax,” Olaf said after he cleared his throat. “I told you before, we have to keep her placated until she answers all our questions. Then we can go hunt down the Baudelaires and their pesky surviving parent.”

“Well, it’s just starting to seem like you prefer her company over mine,” Esmé complained. 

“Why would you think that?” Olaf asked sharply. 

Esmé peered at him suspiciously. She counted off each reason on her fingers. “Well, you don’t correct her when she calls you  _ ‘her’ _ Olaf. You gave  _ her _ the last of the wine. You went out and got  _ her _ a special gift and brought me nothing. Oh! And since you came back from her tent moments ago, you’re acting awfully weird. Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost...” he mumbled under his breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing, dearest. I promise, I do not prefer a foreign gypsy over you, my pet.” He chose his words carefully, something he rarely did. 

He flopped down onto the chaise sofa with a grunt. Esmé sat beside him and ran her fingers through his hair. “Darling, you were gone almost all afternoon,” she whined. “We haven’t had any time to be alone here.”

“Too much to do,” Olaf replied, feeling like he was functioning on autopilot. “We have to find the survivor of the fire... and the Baudelaires.”

“I think they might be hiding here, darling,” Esmé said, voicing her own suspicion. 

“Of course they are,” Olaf snapped. “It’s the two-headed freak and the so-called wolf-baby.”

“How do you know?” She settled against him and bore a triumphant smile when he draped an arm over her shoulder.  _ Stupid gypsy thought she would steal my boyfriend. Please! _

“Several pieces of my disguise kit are missing and those ‘freaks’ showed up barely an hour after we did. That’s no coincidence.” 

“What are you going to do about them?” Esmé interrogated. 

“I don’t know. I suppose we can rig the lion show tomorrow. Put ‘Beverly and Elliot’ on every slip of paper,” Olaf mused aloud. 

“That’s actually not a bad idea, darling,” Esmé said approvingly. 

Olaf leaned away and glared at her. “Don’t sound  _ so _ surprised... I have been known to have a fairly decent idea from time to time.”

“So...” Esmé drawled, dragging a manicured fingernail across his chest. “What do you say to me and you doing a bit of... dancing?”

“Not now, love,” he said almost instantly. 

Esmé looked affronted. “And why not?”

Olaf groaned. “I’m exhausted, for one thing? I spent all goddamn day driving around looking for those stupid lions. Then once I found them, it was not easy getting them back here without losing an arm. I have a routine to plan, a scheme to plot, and...” 

“And?” 

_ And my ex-fiancée is in the next tent over and I can’t close my eyes without seeing her face. _

“And... I’m starving,” he added, realizing it was true only after he said it. 

“Your bald friend mentioned something about finding a grill earlier. I’ll go and see what they’ve managed to find as an excuse for food.”

She left the tent and wandered over to the freaks caravan. The freaks were all outside gathered around a small campfire. Esmé saw an opportunity too good to pass up. She played to their weakness of wanting to be normal and accepted by offering them each a spot in Olaf’s troupe if they agreed to push Madame Lulu to the lions the following day. The freaks initially were appalled by the suggestion. Colette went so far as to remind the others that Madame Lulu had always been kind to them and had even offered to pay their community college tuition. Esmé sneered and promised them that once they joined Count Olaf, they would be rewarded with so much more than a measly college education. 

“Why, look at me!” Esmé declared. “I never went to college and I’m rich, beautiful, and I have an extremely handsome boyfriend.”

The freaks were weak-minded and so desperate for acceptance that they all willingly accepted. The Baudelaires attempted to protest but were overruled by the rest of the freaks. They only hoped they would be far away from the carnival by the time the lion show was scheduled to start. 

Just then, the hook-handed man walked passed the little campfire with a plate of hamburgers. 

“Take those to Olaf,” Esmé ordered. “He’s hungry.”

The hook-handed man did as he was told. When he delivered the tray of food to Olaf, he attempted to make small talk since he hated awkward silences. 

“So, boss, the lions sound like they’ll be a popular show.”

Olaf merely grumbled as he reached for a hamburger. 

“I guess that means you got everything you needed from the fortune teller?”

“What makes you say that?” Olaf asked sharply.

“Oh, just because I heard miss Esmé telling the freaks that whoever got chosen if they pushed Lulu into the pit instead, they could join the troupe...”

“She  _ what?! _ ” Olaf roared. 

“Ohhh dear, I thought you and her planned that together. Obviously not." He raised his hand to his ear and stammered, "I think I heard the sisters calling me. Better go!" The hook-handed man scurried from the tent before Olaf could unleash his rage at him. 

Olaf lost track of time while waiting for Esmé to come back. He’d considered going to find her, but he needed his henchpeople to continue as if everything was normal and screaming at her in the middle of the pavilion wouldn’t achieve that goal. 

The sun dipped lower and lower until another famous Hinterland sunset was before them. Olaf barely noticed. Esmé finally returned to the tent looking cheerful. 

“Well, darling, you look like you’ve gotten some... what’s wrong?” Esmé asked, noticing that Olaf’s demeanor did not look rested as she had been about to say.

“Isn’t there anything you’d care to share,  _ darling _ ?”

“No? And don’t take that tone with me. I’m not one of your lackeys.”

“No?” Olaf mimicked. “Are you sure? Nothing about how you’ve told the circus freaks that they have a spot in  _ my _ troupe if they push K...kind Madame Lulu to the lions?!” 

“Were you  _ spying on me?! _ ” Esmé hissed.

“I didn’t have to!” Olaf roared back. “I have  _ loyal _ troupe members who tell me when my girlfriend is plotting behind my back.”

“Why do you even care if the gypsy gets eaten by lions?” Esmé suddenly asked accusingly. 

“Well, Esmé, did it occur to you that she still hasn’t answered one of our questions?”

“Like where the Baudelaires are? We already know! We don't need her for anything else!”

“How about the whereabouts of your precious sugar bowl?!”

Esmé faltered. She held her finger up, about to retort back, but her mouth just hung open. 

“Unbelievable,” Olaf snipped. “You’ve been obsessed with finding that stupid thing since we left the city and now you’re so deluded in thinking the fortune teller is trying to get into my pants that you’ve lost your focus. Amateur.” 

“If those freaks don’t push her tomorrow,  _ I will _ ,” Esmé promised sinisterly. 

“What about the two older Baudelaires? Hmm?” Olaf barked. “The plan was to toss them so we only have to bring the baby along. She's young enough - she could be raised to learn to set fires. Or are you suddenly _volunteering_ to to play mother to all three of them?” 

“I’d rather play mother to those orphans than let that pathetic fraud live thinking she got the better of Esmé Gigi Genevieve Squalor.” 

“You are...”

“What?” Esmé shrieked. “I’m what?”

Olaf sighed. “Nothing.”

“Oh-ho-ho no, tell me what you were going to say!”

“You’re insane,” Olaf snapped. “And not in the good way.”

“Well, mister,” Esmé retorted, poking him in the chest, venom dripping from every word, “I may be insane but I’ll promise you this. That cheap gypsy whore will regret ever putting her hands on you.”

Something flashed in Olaf’s shiny blue eyes. Something between a challenge and a warning. It was gone in an instant, but Esmé had seen it and her  eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you protecting her?”

Olaf glared back at her for a moment and finally huffed. Rather than answer her, he simply said, “I’m going for a drive.” 

Esmé watched him leave the tent and get into his car for the second time that day. She sat down roughly on the sofa and took a savage bite from the hamburger Olaf had left untouched. It was dry and tasted terrible, but she ate every bit of it out of pure spite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EGGS, I'm sorrrrrrrrry I made them fight. Don't hate me!


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Olaf returned to the carnival, all of the lights were off and the pavilion was quiet. He glanced at the clock in the dash - one of the few things that still worked in the old car - and saw it was a little after midnight. He’d pondered a lot on his drive through the barren Hinterlands and had come to a decision. He crept quietly passed the tent he and Esmé shared, peeked in, and confirmed she was sound asleep. He kept walking until he reached the fortune-telling tent. Despite the lateness of the hour, there was one light illuminating the tent canvas from the inside. Olaf could see the silhouette of a woman moving about the tent.

Olaf slipped into the tent and fastened the clasps closed. He tried to move quietly, but forgot about the beaded curtain, which made a terribly loud clattering sound when he walked through it.

“Fucking curtain!” He hissed.

Kit appeared at the other side of the room. She’d rushed out when she heard the beads clattering, thinking it would be the Baudelaires or perhaps Olivia. She was wrong. She had assumed when she saw the lights off in all the tents that everyone was asleep... and had removed her Madame Lulu disguise almost entirely. She still had it nearby in case she needed to throw it on - the layered skirt was fashioned in a way that she could slip into it and throw her veil back on if she needed to, but she had made the mistake of assuming no one besides the Baudelaires would come in. She was still holding a blanket she’d been in the middle of folding.

“What are you doing here?” She asked sharply.

“You have to leave. Tonight,” Olaf insisted.

“What? Why?” Kit demanded.

“Look, just... pack your books and your films and go!”

“And leave the Baudelaires behind for you or your minions to slaughter?” She knew he was clever enough to have deduced who they were. She saw no point in continuing the charade of smoke and mirrors. 

Olaf considered asking her how she knew that he knew who the orphans were, but he found he didn’t really care. “Take the damn brats with you if you must, but you have to go!”

There was a tone in his voice that Kit struggled to place because she so rarely heard it - panic. Olaf almost never panicked. He always had a solution, even if it was bizarre and completely ridiculous.

“What’s the matter?” She asked.

“Esmé is going to have you thrown to the lions tomorrow,” Olaf confessed. He stared at the floor. “Please, I don’t care to hear how much you hate me or how it didn’t have to come to this... just take those kids and go.”

Kit realized that if he was talking like this, he must genuinely believe that Esmé was planning to hurt her. He was even telling her to take the orphans with her... the orphans he had pursued relentlessly out of revenge against their mother.

“O... are you doing something... noble?”

Olaf scoffed. “Yeah, well, don’t read into it. I still fully intend on hunting those orphans down and taking back every last penny of the fortune that _Beatrice stole from me..._  But I can’t risk you getting hurt. I won’t.”

Despite all the wicked things she had heard he’d done, she felt herself soften. She saw the flicker of nobility in his eyes and knew he meant what he said. She took a step toward him and set the blanket aside. She’d been about to tell him he could give up this life and start over somewhere that no one knew him, but her words died on her breath when she saw the way Olaf was staring at her.

His gaze was fixed on her abdomen, swollen with child.

Neither spoke for several long moments.

Finally, with a dry throat and clammy palms, Olaf whispered in shocked disbelief, “You’re pregnant?”

Kit didn’t respond immediately. After a brief pause, she said, “There was a moment, brief and fleeting, but it was there - just seconds ago. A moment where the real you shined through all of this darkness and hate. And it wasn’t the first time either. You’ve had those moments before,” she reminded him, “one of them not terribly long ago...”

She was pulled back to the memory and undoubtedly, so was he...

~~~~~~~~~~

_They had encountered one another by accident. Kit had attended the opening night of a new theater production. An associate was supposed to meet with her during the third act to provide crucial information on where the trained eagles were nesting. All they needed were the whistles and the birds would be back under their control once more._

_When she had first taken her seat and skimmed through the program, she’d been surprised to see Olaf’s name among the cast. The play had garnered quite a bit of media attention and had gotten rave reviews during its soft opening. Kit felt guilty for admitting to herself that she’d assumed he wouldn’t have made the final casting for such a... successful production. He was, in truth, a decent actor when he didn’t try so hard. It was when he over exaggerated his parts or tried to force a plot that didn’t work that ruined him._

_After her rendezvous with her associate, she had considered leaving quietly... but something made her stay. She didn’t want to admit it, but it had been somewhat exhilarating to see him on stage. He’d looked so... happy. A sight she’d thought had been lost since the night those poison darts had been thrown. She’d decided to stay and watch the play til the end. On the stairs, she saw another associate purely by chance, who convinced her to attend the production’s reception in the ballroom on the main floor._

_It was there that they’d literally bumped into each other. She’d been holding her brandy sidecar in one hand and had turned to wave at Mrs. Quagmire when she spun and collided with someone._

_“So sorry, please excuse...” She’d apologized automatically, but she’d trailed off when she was looking eye to eye... at him._

_“You!” He’d declared in surprise._

_“And you,” she’d returned, brushing at the spot on her dress where the cocktail had spilled._

_They’d stood facing one another for an awkward moment. The tension was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Kit couldn’t take it any longer._

_“You were excellent tonight,” she blurted._

_“You were out there?” Olaf had replied with surprise._

_When Kit nodded, he smiled ruefully. “I assumed you were just here on a mission.” His smile turned up slyly. He knew better than to think she was just out for a social evening._

_“Well, nothing says I can’t mix business with pleasure,” she said without thinking._

_Olaf had raised his eyebrow at her. “Is that so?”_

_She’d rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder lightly with her fist. “You know what I mean. I was already here and the reviews were promising. I decided to stay and actually watch the show.”_

_“That’s your story?”_

_“And I’m sticking to it,” Kit confirmed._

_“Mmhmm,” Olaf mused. “So it has nothing to do with the fact that you never missed an opening night?”_

_“Is this opening night?” Kit had asked, feigning ignorance. “I didn’t even realize...”_

_“Pfft, and they say I’m a shit actor,” Olaf had teased her._

_She’d looked up at him with a sarcastic retort but when their eyes met, she forgot what she’d been intending to say. She managed a weak smile as she remembered dozens of nights just like this one, before the schism, before everything had gone so terribly wrong. She knew he still resented Beatrice for throwing that dart, accident or not. But bumping into him so suddenly and unexpectedly... she had been able to forget, even if it was just for a moment, how topsy-turvy everything had gone. As he was moving closer to her, she even temporarily forgot that they were on opposite sides of the schism._

_“Can we be civil for an evening?” Kit had asked. “For old time’s sake?”_

_He’d leaned in so closely, she could feel his breath against her ear when he whispered, “Let’s go somewhere less crowded.”_

_She had weakly glanced around to see if she saw anyone she knew before accepting his hand. He’d begun to lead her to the front door, but Kit had insisted otherwise._

_“Not outside. Too crowded.”_

_“Kit, it’s the opening night of a brand new play, everywhere is crowded.”_

_Kit pursed her lips as she thought for a moment. The play had opened alongside a brand new hotel. The playhouse was connected to the hotel via the ballroom, where they currently were. Kit wondered at the wisdom of what she was about to do for only a second. She shrugged and remembered her brother’s words about acting first and getting scared later._

_She pulled him in the direction of the hotel lobby on the other side of the ballroom._

_“The hotel?” Olaf had asked in confusion._

_“My room is on the fourteenth floor,” Kit mumbled._

_“Why do you need a hotel room? Don’t you have an apartment just a few blocks from here?”_

_“Not anymore. I’m not stationed in the city anymore,” Kit had replied vaguely._

_Once in the elevator, Olaf gave her a serious glance and asked, “What else has changed?”_

_“In almost fifteen years, O? A lot,” she’d said with a smirk._

_Olaf had rolled his eyes and looked out of the glass wall of the elevator. That had been a mistake. He’d immediately gotten lightheaded and Kit, remembering his fear of heights, took his hand and squeezed gently. She hadn’t even thought about it first - instinct had just taken over. She’d felt him squeeze her hand in return and she didn’t let go until the elevator made a soft ding when they reached her floor._

_Once they arrived to Kit’s modest hotel room, she slipped her shoes and her shawl off. Olaf had come up behind her, silently as a shadow. He pressed a soft, warm kiss to the spot where her shoulder met her neck._

_“I’ve missed you,” he murmured quietly._

_“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Kit said without any conviction in her tiny voice._

_Olaf kissed further up her neck. “You’re probably right.”_

_“We’re enemies,” Kit said weakly._

_“Are we?” Olaf purred, his lips still lingering against her neck. “You’re the one who said you were mixing business with pleasure.”_

_Kit made a soft sound of protest that she didn’t really mean. In her mind, she told herself it was just for self-preservation... so that later when she thought about this night, she could have a clear conscious knowing she’d at least tried to resist..._ That’s a line of complete bullshit, _Kit told herself._

_Olaf slipped his hands around her waist and with his mouth pressed to her ear, he’d whispered, “I’ll stop if you want me to.”_

_“Don’t you dare,” Kit warned.*_

~~~~~~~~~~

Olaf stared at Kit for a long moment. The flush of her cheeks told him that she was remembering the opening night of the last production he’d been in... which had led to... Olaf cleared his throat. Surely that didn’t mean what he thought she was implying it meant.

His mind started to race. _Don’t be ridiculous. She’s been seeing someone, surely. The goody Denouement brother probably. He always had a thing for her._ He had just about talked himself out of her condition being a direct result of their night in that hotel. _But what if it is!?_ Olaf couldn’t get the creeping suspicion out of his head. He tried to think back to how long it had been since that night in the city. So much had happened since then and everything had started to run together. Plus, he didn’t even know how far along she was.

“You’re pregnant.” He repeated, only this time it was a statement, not a question.

“O, listen...” Kit began.

“No,” he said with more force than he'd intended. “You _have_ to leave. Tonight. Now.”

“I can’t,” she said regretfully.

“Kit, I don’t think you realize how serious this is!” Olaf growled. “She wants to _kill_ you! You _have_ to go!”

“Olaf, I said I can’t!” Kit cried.

He took a step back and stared at her with surprise. He could count on his hands the number of times she’d lost her composure.

“Why?”

Kit wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him that she had sent Olivia to retrieve the sugar bowl and until she returned with Jacques’s taxi, she had no mode of transportation. But she couldn’t... If she told him, he’d almost certainly tell Esmé. She wanted to think their shared moment of reminiscing might remind him of the way things used to be between them, but she wasn’t that naive. It broke her heart to admit to herself that she couldn’t trust him.  

“I just can’t leave. There are bigger things at play.”

“Goddammit, Kit! For once in your fucking life, think about yourself before the damn volunteers!” Olaf hissed at her. He glanced at her pregnant belly again. “Think of... your kid.” He’d almost said “our” which was preposterous. He wasn’t sure why he’d felt compelled to say it. _It’s not my kid... Is it?_

“Why all of a sudden are you concerned with the welfare of a child?” Kit snapped.

Olaf couldn’t explain because he honestly didn’t know himself. All he knew was that he could not let Kit - or her baby - get hurt.

“Please, Kit. I regret so many things in my life... Don’t make this one of them." He strode to the entrance of the tent and was halfway outside when he turned around and said solemnly, "Little fox, please go. Even if it meant never seeing you again but knowing you'd be safe... it would be worth it. Go." 

“I wish I could make you understand,” she murmured as he left the tent, too quietly for him to hear her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The flashback is a condensed PG version for this story. If you want to read the whole thing, you can find it here: [Playing With Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557643)  
> (mature readers only)


	8. Chapter 8

Kit was in her Madame Lulu disguise waiting for the ferocious lion show to begin with a knot in her stomach and a heaviness in her heart. She barely heard the “Ringmaster” as he hyped the crowd up and when he was carrying on about unfolding the piece of paper fold by fold, she found herself glancing through the slit in the tent every few seconds, hoping to see a flash of yellow and black. 

Her worst fear was confirmed when she heard him announce dramatically, “...proves that two heads are better than one! Beverly and Elliot!” 

After a lot of commotion and stalling, Madame Lulu had bravely announced that she would take the place of her beloved freaks. The crowd cheered. Esmé looked delighted. Olaf looked sick to his stomach. 

Esmé nudged Hugo and gave him a significant look. “Push...her...in,” Esmé said through grit teeth while trying not to break her smile for the crowd. Hugo, Colette, and Kevin faced Lulu. Kit smiled weakly at them and said softly, “You deserve better... never forget that.”

“I can’t do it!” Hugo wailed. 

“Me either,” Colette agreed. “Madame Lulu gave us a home and a job when no one else would even look at us.”

“It’s not right,” Kevin added. “If the Ringmaster wants her pushed in so badly, he should do it himself. The lions were his idea to begin with!”

Esmé looked gleeful. “What a truly  _ splendid _ idea, Kenneth!”

“Kevin,” he corrected. 

“Whatever,” Esmé said dismissively. She turned her attention to Olaf, who for reasons unknown to her had turned a sickly shade of green.

“Darling, I’m not sure what you ate, but it’s not agreeing with you,” Esmé supplied. “Now, push the gypsy into the lion pit so we can all go about our day.”

Olaf stood on the long narrow board that was suspended over the lion pit. Kit stood at the far end, her arms outstretched to help her keep her balance. Esmé stood at the other end, on solid ground. Olaf looked back and forth between the two women several times. 

“Darling,” Esmé growled, “The crowd is turning into a riot. What are you waiting for?  _ Push her _ .”

She smiled placatingly at the crowd again and gave her best pageant wave. 

Olaf took another few cautious steps toward Madame Lulu. 

“Why didn’t you go when I told you to?” He asked her miserably. 

“I can’t expect you to understand,” Kit said sadly. 

Olaf inched closer. He was standing right in front of her now. Being suspended over an open pit, especially one with starving lions at the bottom, made Olaf go even greener. Like she had nearly nine months ago, Kit reached out and grasped his hand in hers, squeezing reassuringly. It had always helped him steady his fear of heights.

“Do you trust me?” He asked as he searched for her eyes through the thick black veil.

“I used to,” Kit replied woefully. 

“Trust me now,” Olaf told her. 

Before Kit could ponder his meaning, he seized her by her hips and shoved her up and forward as hard as he could. 

As soon as he’d released her, Olaf had spun around on the platform and squeezed his eyes shut, not unlike a child who has come to the scary part of a movie they do not wish to see. “Kit!” He choked out. He felt the strong lurch in his stomach and had he eaten anything in the past twelve hours, he would have vomited. As it was, he simply heaved as he listened for the sounds from the lion pit. But he heard nothing. He slowly turned around, dreading what he might see. Relief flooded him when he saw Kit pushing herself up off the hard ground across the pit. 

Esmé had watched the entire spectacle and was presently gritting her teeth so hard she wondering if she might chip a tooth. She shook with furious rage. Unfortunately, now was not the time to deal with her boyfriend’s betrayal, since the entire tent had erupted into pandemonium. 

A brunette woman came running into the tent and knelt to help Kit up. 

“Olivia!” Kit exclaimed. “You arrived just in time.”

“What on earth happened?!”

“No time to explain. Find the Baudelaires and let’s get out of here!”

As Olivia clutched Kit closely to help her up, she discreetly slipped a specific vessel for disaccharides into one of the many pockets of Madame Lulu’s skirts. 

“You’re that school librarian!” Olaf shouted in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Boss!” The hook-handed man called. “We gotta go! The girls already lit the roller coaster!”

“Dammit!” Olaf shouted. Everything was unraveling too quickly. He’d wanted Kit to get away from the carnival before his lackeys had lit the fire. 

A group of people rushed toward the tent entrance all at the same time, which sadly, knocked Olivia into the lion pit. Kit screamed in anguish. 

“No!!! Olivia!” 

Kit knew there was nothing she could do to help the librarian. She tried to block the sounds from the lion pit by focusing on the running and screaming tourists. Kit was devastated over Olivia’s fate, but she told herself she would have to grieve later. The Baudelaires needed her now. 

She emerged from the tent to see the roller coaster burning. How had so much gone wrong so quickly? 

“I told you,” a female voice taunted from behind her. “I told you if you didn’t stay away from him, I didn’t know what I’d do.” 

“Esmé Squalor, you fool,” Kit said in her normal voice. 

“Wait, what happened to your accent? I knew it was fake!” 

Kit was so furious, she yanked the veil and the wig off. 

Esmé’s eyes widened in shock. “You! It... It’s been you all this time?”

Kit wasn’t usually a vindictive person, but she needed someone to blame for Olivia’s death and it might as well be the jealous, raving woman in front of her. 

“Ohh, my Olaf, spirits will answer your big question soon!” Kit shrieked wildly in her Madame Lulu voice. 

“Oh, I _will_ kill you now,” Esmé hissed. “Do you hear me, Snicket? You’re a dead woman. You’ll be united with your dear brothers  _ very soon _ .”

“You won’t touch me, Squalor. You’re too afraid of messing up your manicure,” Kit fired back. 

Esmé was already moving toward the car. “For once in your pathetic life, Snicket, you’re right about one thing!” Esmé pulled something from the trunk and Kit stared at it with disgust. 

“Is that a harpoon gun?” 

“Esmé!” Olaf called. “We’re leaving!”

“Ohh, not yet we’re not,” Esmé growled quietly. She went to pull the trigger and suddenly realized it wasn’t her harpoon gun at all. It was a tranquilizer gun that Olaf had somehow acquired when he’d gone out to catch the lions. “Oh well, I bet a lion tranquilizer will still kill you.” 

Esmé pointed the gun at Kit and pulled the trigger. Kit barely had time to react, diving aside when she realized Esmé wasn’t bluffing. The tranquilizer dart nicked Kit’s arm. It took only a moment for her vision to start swimming. She staggered toward the entrance to the carnival where she knew her brother’s taxi was waiting, but she collapsed after only a few steps. 

“Hmm,” Esmé sneered. “That takes care of  _ her _ !” She threw the dart gun back into the trunk and yelled for the freaks to hurry up and get in the car.

“Except you two,” she said to Beverly and Elliot. “You two ride in the caravan that we’ll tow behind the car.”

Violet craned her neck to see where Kit was, but could see no sign of her. 

“What should we do?” Klaus wondered frantically. 

“What can we do?” Violet replied. “They have Sunny in the car. We have to go with them.” They climbed into the caravan and lamented the loss of their closest chance for escape and answers yet. 

“Where’s the boss?” The hook-handed man called out. 

“He’d better hurry up or all my clothes will smell like smoke,” Esmé complained.

Olaf saw the remainder of his troupe climbing into the car. He knelt beside Kit and felt for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt one, strong and steady. Fortunately, the dart had only nicked her. If it had been a direct hit, there had been enough tranquilizer in those darts to bring down a lion. 

He scooped her up and hurried to Jacques’s taxi. He guessed that the car was far enough away from the structure of the carnival - she shouldn’t suffer from smoke inhalation. He set her gently inside, where she slumped over onto the bench seat. Something in her pocket made a soft  _ clink! _ Olaf reached into the skirt pocket and felt his hand close over a familiar ceramic shape.  _ The Sugar Bowl _ . Olaf laughed aloud. He couldn’t help it. All the running and chasing and it was right here. He glanced back toward the car. Esmé was ordering the new freaks to tie the caravan to the trailer hitch good and tight. 

Olaf slipped the sugar bowl back into Kit’s pocket. As he did so, his hand brushed against her pregnant stomach. He laid a gentle hand against it and felt a soft thump against his hand. He didn’t know the first thing about unborn children, but he guessed if the thing was kicking, it was probably unharmed from the tranquilizer. 

“I’ll be honest, I hate kids,” he said to her stomach. “But you take care of yourself, you littler… littlest fox. For her.”

He closed the taxi door with a firm slam to ensure she was protected from the blazing inferno. 

He returned to his car and climbed into the driver’s seat. 

“Where were you, darling?” Esmé asked. 

“Oh, I was… setting the fortune telling tent on fire.”

Esmé peered into the side-view mirror at the reflection of the unburnt tent. 

“You were?”

Suddenly, smoke rose from the back of the tent and flames creeped up the sides. 

“Just took a while to make it around to the front. I started it on that stupid crystal ball table,” Olaf made up on the spot. 

“Boss, look, one of the freaks was hiding this map but I took it off them,” the hook-handed man said proudly as he handed the map to Olaf. 

“Oh… I haven’t seen one of these in years. Bundle up everyone. We’re going to the mountains.”

“Care to explain why?” Esmé asked. 

Olaf pointed to the small brown stain in the Valley of Four Drafts. Underneath the stain was the word “survivor?” written in blue ink. 

“Because  _ that _ ,” Olaf said with a flourish, “is how VFD marked hidden locations on maps. And I bet you… Hooky’s hooks that this is where the VFD headquarters is.”

“But I need my hooks…”

“To the mountains!” Olaf shouted triumphantly as he pulled away from the burning carnival. In the rearview mirror, the famous Hinterland sunset was mixed with smoke and flames… and on the horizon of red and orange, a small yellow taxi sat off to the side. 


End file.
